


Always

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They can chart their partnership through the scars they bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

“What?”

Doyle’s sharp tone broke Bodie’s concentration, recalling him to where he was and who he was with. Dammit, he’d let his gaze dwell on Doyle’s body too long. For over two years, he’d been careful, discreet. But he was tired, crashing from the high of arresting Turvey. They were alone in the shower room; he’d let his guard down. He watched Doyle’s eyes narrow, and he scrambled for cover story. “Just thinking—you’re lucky Terkoff didn’t aim a little higher.” He kept his voice light.

Doyle looked down at the small scar from the bullet wound on the front of his thigh. “He might have been aiming for my head.”

Bodie turned to his locker. “Cowley said he was good.” He took out a clean polo-neck.

“Yeah. Lucky for me, then.”

Bodie pulled the jumper on over his head. When he could see again, he found his gaze drawn once more to Doyle’s bum. Doyle was taking out a change of clothes from the locker. His hair was still wet from the shower. Bodie saw the larger scar on the back of Doyle’s thigh, where the bullet had gone out. “I haven’t really noticed the scars before.” He regretted the words even as he spoke. They didn’t comment on injuries, not like that.

Doyle’s head turned towards him, and Bodie looked down as he straightened his jumper . “I was glad you were there,” Doyle said finally. Bodie raised his eyes, surprised by the quiet sincerity in Doyle’s voice. There was an odd sort of intensity in Doyle’s eyes.

“Always.” His chest felt tight.

After a moment, Doyle nodded. He turned back to put on his clothes.

Bodie watched as Doyle’s skin was covered by the familiar denim and cotton. He should be used to Doyle’s allure by now. He had thought he had it under control. But then, it wasn’t just Doyle’s body that drew him, was it? Bodie closed his locker and picked up his bag. “Ready?”

Doyle closed his own locker. “Always.” He tilted his head as he grinned at Bodie.

No, it wasn’t just Doyle’s body that acted like a magnet for him, fuck it all to hell. He brushed past Doyle as he led the way out of the locker room. Stay in control. Stay cool. Play it like a game.

*****

Bodie rubbed the towel over his head as he walked towards his locker. His body ached, and all he wanted was to get his head down—lie down in a proper bed, not the car where he’d spent last night guarding Doyle. Christ, he was getting old if that was all it took to make him as knackered as sailor after shore leave—

“Here.”

Bodie looked round at Doyle, who was holding out a small glass pot. Bodie took the pot without thinking, then peered at it. “Lotion?”

Doyle turned back to his own locker. “The doctor gave it to me after the shooting.” Doyle flicked a glance towards Bodie’s shoulder. “It’ll help with the stiffness in the scars.”

Bodie nodded and moved on to his locker. Scars. Bullet wounds, knife wounds—they were an almost inevitable byproduct of their work. The agents that survived carried scars. Bodie closed his eyes for a moment as he imagined the hole a 180 would have made in Doyle. He clenched his jaw, set the pot down, and pulled on pants and trousers collected from his locker.

“Fancy a drink?”

No, he didn’t want a fucking drink. He’d spent too much time with Doyle in the last few days. But he remembered too well what happened when he let Doyle out of his sight. “Yeah.” He picked up the pot of lotion again.

“Great. Anson was telling me about this pub—“

“I’d rather go to your local.” Bodie opened the pot, and sniffed dubiously at the contents. He didn’t want to go to a pub and watch Doyle chat up a bird—like he’d chatted up Kathie, who’d nearly succeeded in killing him. Doyle’s local was better for a quick pint and a bit of food than for picking up girls.

“Suits me. You’re supposed to put it on, you know, not eat it.”

Bodie rolled his eyes. “Yes, thanks.” He dipped a finger into the pot and spread the lotion lightly over the scar where Barry Martin’s knife had hit him.

“Well, how am I to know?” Doyle moved towards him. “Nothing you do surprises me any more. Here, give me that.” Doyle took the pot from Bodie’s hand.

“Thought you wanted me to—“

“I do. Don’t think I haven’t seen you wincing from the other ones. Turn round.”

“Doyle—“

“Turn round, Three-seven!”

“Jesus, Doyle!” But Bodie turned round, the quicker to shut him up. “I don’t think much of your Cowley impression.”

“It’s very effective, though. I might have to use it more often.”

“I wouldn’t— Christ.” The lotion was cold as Doyle applied it to the scar from one of the knife wounds on his back. But the lotion wasn’t the cause of the goosebumps that spread so quickly over Bodie’s skin. He twitched.

“Still tender?” There was concern in Doyle’s voice. His fingers continued to spread the lotion on Bodie.

“No. Yes.” Let him think that; let him think anything but the truth. There was nothing he could do about the effect Doyle’s touch was having on him.

“Stupid twat for getting knifed in the first place. Twice.” Doyle’s fingers moved on to the second scar on his back. Bodie bit back a groan. “Three times.” There was a sudden bite to Doyle’s voice, and his assessment stung when it shouldn’t have.

“Not as stupid as you for—“ He cut himself off.

“Yeah, thought you were angry with me.” Doyle’s hand rested on Bodie’s back.

Too late to avoid this now. “Understatement. Why’d you go off alone?”

Doyle sighed. “I…was tired. Wanted an end to it, I suppose.”

“Stupid.” Bodie turned round to face him.

“Yeah.” Doyle’s eyes were on his. “We’re a match, then, aren’t we?’

“Bodie wanted to touch him, but didn’t. “We only ever get hurt when one of us is down, or missing.”

“Have to avoid that, then, won’t we? “ Doyle held his gaze for a moment, and then Doyle looked down.

Bodie froze. He willed Doyle not to see—

“Bodie.”

Bodie closed his eyes. Why had he left the beige trousers at work?

“It seems you can surprise me, after all.”

Bluff. He could bluff his way— He opened his eyes. “Always. You’re—“ He didn’t expect Doyle to kiss him, stifling his words. He put his hands on Doyle’s arms. A joke; it had to be— No. Doyle wasn’t joking. Bodie slid his arms around Doyle. This was a bad idea. This was such a bad, wonderful, stupid, lovely—

Doyle broke the kiss. “I’m what?” He looked at Bodie, lust and humour in equal portion in his eyes.

Bodie’s heart leapt, even as his balls tightened. “A surprise.” He reached for Doyle.

Doyle took a step back; his smile widened. “The pub or my place?”

“Yours.”

“Woowoo,” Doyle said as he turned towards the door. It was an exact imitation of Bodie when they’d been in the Jag with Kathie.

Bodie grinned anticipation mixed with relief. He knew this mood of Doyle’s. They’d keep it light; Doyle understood the score. It was a game. No need to fear. He quickly followed Doyle out of locker room.

*****

“Ow! Dammit!”

Bodie was already halfway to the showers when Doyle emerged, holding his wrists up. Bodie stopped immediately, but it was already too late. Yet the glare Doyle directed at him lacked heat. Bodie raised his eyebrows. His heart was beating fast, but he kept his voice easy when he spoke. “Hot water gone?”

Doyle shrugged, looked a little self-conscious. “Wrists sting.”

Bodie nodded and walked the rest of the way to Doyle, slowly enough to give Doyle a chance to turn away, if he wanted. Doyle looked at him, but didn’t resist when Bodie took his arm and turned it to look at the burn from the lighter. “No violin lessons or showers, it seems.”

“Yeah, well. I may need a little help.” Doyle’s eyes were on his wrist, his brows drawn together.

Bodie stayed silent. He wondered at the picture they presented. He was fully clothed after his shower; Doyle was naked and dripping. They should have gone to their flats, but Cowley had wanted them available to him when he arrived at HQ from the conference. Bodie was tired after his all-night watch on Avery’s place. He was tired, too, of Doyle’s defensiveness, even as he understood the cause.

“Been meaning to tell you, I’m….” Doyle paused for so long that Bodie finally spoke.

“Hungry? Bent? Impotent?”

Doyle looked up, laughter breaking over his face. “No, you sod—as you well know!”

Bodie widened his eyes. “Oh, dear. Thought you were bent—“

“Shut up, Bodie!” Doyle broke free from Bodie’s hold, but he put his hand on Bodie’s shoulder. “I’ve been…difficult, I know.”

“You’ve been a prick. On and off.”

“Yeah, that.” Doyle looked guilty, but his eyes met Bodie’s.

Bodie shook his head, and then he darted in for a hard kiss, pushing Doyle against the wall with jarring force. He lifted his mouth from Doyle’s long enough to say: “You’re back on the squad. You’re healthy. Your sodding independence is intact. And I’ve never taken it easy on you, Ray.” He kissed Doyle thoroughly, then broke the kiss and looked down. “Definitely not impotent.” He patted Doyle and backed away.

“Bodie!”

“Ah, ah, ah. Discreet, remember? Never at HQ….”

“I’m going to kill you.” Doyle was still leaning against the wall.

“Ah, well, might have to stand in line for that.”

Doyle pushed away from the wall and moved towards his locker. “I _thought_ Cowley was not best pleased with you.” He opened his locker and took out a pair of jeans. “You were supposed to sit tight while Parker had his evil way with me, is that it?”

Bodie followed Doyle and leant against a locker. “Something like that.” He watched as Doyle pulled on his jeans. His gaze strayed to the scars left by Mayli’s bullets, and the surgery that had saved Doyle’s life.

Doyle slanted a look at him. “Took care of Parker on my own, didn’t I?” He sounded gleeful.

“Spoilsport.” He couldn’t seem to look away from the scars. He’d seen them a hundred times, in hospital and out. In bed. He’d felt them, and he’d thanked God for them, because they meant Doyle had survived.

“Bodie?”

He heard Doyle’s voice as if from a distance. There was something very like panic rising within him. Fuck, no. Not now. He hadn’t broken. Not once. Not when it was happening, not afterwards. It was over, it was—

“Here.”

Doyle was right in front of him, a hand on Bodie’s arm, steadying him. But Bodie sank to his knees anyway. He was shaking. He reached out for Doyle, and the fingers of his right hand rested on the surgeon’s scar.

“Ah, Bodie.” Doyle’s voice was low, almost gentle.

And then he was in Doyle’s arms, his face in Doyle’s neck. “Stupid,” he muttered against Doyle’s skin. He felt Doyle shake his head, his arms tightening around Bodie.

“Twat,” Doyle said. “It’s about fucking time.”

Bodie stilled.

“Do you think I didn’t know? You’re the one who said it: We only ever get hurt when one of us is down, or missing. That’s a breeding ground for guilt, mate. You can’t keep that bottled up inside you. I know.”

Bodie tried to pull away, but Doyle wouldn’t let him go. “I wasn’t there,” Bodie said, finally.

“You were. You always are.” Doyle eased his hold, and they looked at each other. “Why do you think I had to take care of Parker, eh? Knew what you’d be attacking on your own. Stupid, reckless—“

“Oh, and it had nothing to do with the fact he was about to kill you?”

“You, me, what’s the difference?” Doyle shrugged, but his gaze was steady and serious. “You got to the flat in time. You saved me. You were in my bloody head all through it.”

“You make me sound like a headache, Doyle.” The tightness in his gut was easing.

“And so you are.”

“Well, you know what you are, don’t you?”

“A pain in the arse? Yes, we established that a long time ago.” Doyle grinned.

“Prat.” Bodie smiled. “That goes both ways.” He tilted his head, eyes on Doyle. “Been pushing me away a lot.”

“No. Just….” Doyle’s voice trailed off, his eyes unfocused as his gaze slid away.

“Sodding independence?”

“Not exactly.” Doyle shook himself. “Anyway, you need a fully functional partner—reckless bugger that you are.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” But Bodie searched Doyle’s face, seeing something like a shadow hovering behind the smile. “What is it, Ray?”

Doyle stared at him, and then he seemed to speak without moving, as if letting words out he’d rather not. “I want you there.”

“Always.” He said it easily, but it was the truth. It was an echo from the past, and a promise for the future.

“Is it?”

That was the shadow, then. He knew he had only himself to blame for it. “Move in with you, if you like.” He watched Doyle’s eyes widen.

“And the consequences?”

“Worth it.” There were far worse things to fear, and the light in Doyle’s eyes was all he needed. “Always, Ray.”

Doyle shook his head; the light in his eyes remained. “You do still surprise me.” Doyle climbed to his feet and held out a hand to Bodie.

“Ah, well, that’s all right, then.” Bodie let Doyle pull him up. “Keep you on your toes.” As Doyle turned away, Bodie touched his arm. “It was never the game I made it out to be.”

After a moment, Doyle smiled. “Told you, it’s about fucking time.”

“Yeah, I know. Let’s go home, eh? Celebrate.”

“Love to.” Doyle kissed him briefly. “Cowley.”

Bodie closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

“Come on, we can wait in the rest room. Less temptation there.” Doyle pulled on a shirt and headed for the door of the locker room.

“I don’t want less temptation.”

“Yes, you do. Anyway, we’ve got planning to do.”

“Hang on.” Bodie caught Doyle at the door. “Planning?” He had a sudden, hideous picture of Doyle wanting him to pick out curtains or something equally—

“There’s a flaw in your theory.” Doyle sounded serious, but his expression was wicked.

“What theory?”

“The ‘we will get hurt if the other’s not there’ theory.”

“It’s a fine theory. Fully formed.”

“It’s a fine theory, with flaws. I wasn’t with you on that chimney, now was I?”

Bodie blinked at him. “Yes, but I didn’t get hurt—“

“Right. Murphy did.”

Bodie stared at him.

“Seems we have a loophole.” Doyle opened the door, winked, and walked into the hallway.

“Right. I vote for Stuart as the first test case.” Bodie followed him, as he always would.

END

_June 2011_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Shower room" from Probodie, on LJ.


End file.
